It was almost five minutes before Al Kubrah Al Qāsim returned.
Her manner was apologetic.
“Now,” she said, “there are complications.”
“Chachājān, Al Nadīm Al Quddūs, was delayed in town. He’s on his way out here now. I got Abbū on the phone and told him I’d leave the papers. Unfortunately, Abbū says I’ll have to wait for Chachājān, Al Nadīm Al Quddūs. He…”
She couldn’t even finish her sentence.
A car was coming there.
“Here he comes.” Al Kubrah Al Qāsim said, “That’s my Chachājān, Al Nadīm Al Quddūs’s car.”
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs stopped his car and jumped out.
“Well, well, well,” he smiled at both of us, especially at Al Kubrah Al Qāsim, “you are already here? But still you are late.”
“Late?” Al Kubrah Al Qāsim looked at him surprised.
“Sure, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim has gone already.”
“Certainly.” Al Nadīm Al Quddūs confirmed what he had said, “The conference started on even before the pre scheduled time. Al Muħammad Al Qāsim phoned Bahū Begum,Al Nāsirah Al Karīm, and my wife, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus, about eight saying he would be home around eleven or eleven thirty. Then he left us about nine o’clock stating that he was driving back to his home at Ved Nagar. He wanted to be home by eleven.”
“You didn’t go with him?” Al Kubrah Al Qāsim asked.
“No, he wanted us to discuss some business matters more. He wanted us to reach a consensus in them. He instructed me especially to see to it. After he left, I paced the floor idly for a couple of turns and wound up standing at the window looking down on the street.”
“Standing at the window? Looking down on the street, Chachājān?” Al Kubrah Al Qāsim said puzzled somewhat.
What a tragedy.
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs hated his own daughter, Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd, and loved Al Kubrah Al Qāsim, his younger brother’s, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim’s daughter, Al Kubrah Al Qāsim.
Al Kubrah Al Qāsim was the shrewdest of all the sisters and cousins.
Even Al Zakāt Al Qāsim was impressed very much by Al Kubrah Al Qāsim’s tremendous success with Al Muħammad Al Qāsim and Al Nadīm Al Quddūs too.
Both of them loved Al Kubrah Al Qāsim wildly.
Al Zakāt Al Qāsim could never understand how Al Kubrah Al Qāsim managed it.
We were now walking to the elevator.
“Sure,” Al Nadīm Al Quddūs said responding to his niece, “I even saw Al Muħammad Al Qāsim cross to the curb, stand a moment, and then walk diagonally across the street. He crossed the other sidewalk on a diagonal to the corner, and then walked around the corner. After that, I was unable to see your Abbū, Al Kubrah Al Qāsim. The building on the opposite corner obstructed his further view.”
We had dressed again before Al Nadīm Al Quddūs reached us.
He wasn’t quite used to the Chaturang Shāshvat Maithunyog atmosphere of Ved Nagar still now.
He still felt awkward to it.
Al Kubrah Al Qāsim insisted to keep fucking me, but I admonished her deliberately.
“Oh,” Al Kubrah Al Qāsim said, “you left the window, I think.”
“No, that’s the interesting incidence I wanted to tell both of you. I continued to stand at the window thinking of our industrial problems, inadvertently.”
“Oh, and what’s interesting in it?”
“Within a matter of seconds after my younger brother, your Abbū, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, had started across the street, I saw the shadow of an extremely beautiful woman.”
“You saw the shadow of her, not herself?”
“Herself afterward, at first I saw her shadow only.”
“I see. Anything particular, if you noticed?”
“It was a very shapely shadow. I mean to say the shadow itself intrigued, fascinated, charmed, captivated me because it appeared to be cast by a young woman who was…well, shapely.”
We had come to the elevator.*
The elevator arrived.
We stepped inside.
To Al Nadīm Al Quddūs’s immense surprise, both his ever-cunning wife, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus, and his Bahū Begum, Al Nāsirah Al Karīm, were already in the elevator.
“Al Safiyah Al Ghaus, Bahū Begum, you are late.” Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was surprised pleasantly, “Al Muħammad Al Qāsim had told you…”
“Nothing.” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm said curtly.
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs felt hurt.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm never respected her relationship with him.
She still believed Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was after her own trillions as well as after the billions of his younger brother and her husband, Al Muħammad Al Qāsim.
He opened his mouth to protest, but Al Nāsirah Al Karīm had already dismissed him.
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs controlled himself patiently.
What the use after all?
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus was so greedy openly that Al Nadīm Al Quddūs couldn’t make anyone believe he wasn’t greedy at all.
Al Kubrah Al Qāsim’s mind was racing.
If Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, her Abbū, really succeeded in his planning, what would happen?
Could she work out the things with Durgesh?
Would her other family members be prepared to listen to her?
Maybe…After all, she was an Al Qāsim.
Al Muħammad Al Qāsim, her Abbū, had himself chosen her his would be successor.
She had to solve the present dilemma.
Her other sisters didn’t have the proper guts.
Muħammad bin Qāsim was a clandestine gay.
He was unable to run, Al Qāsim Group of Companies.
He couldn’t run a single company, Al Qāsim Rolling, Casting and Engineering Company even.
Prañav Yogéndr Divyānand had already taken charge.
In seven years, Al Kubrah Al Qāsim had achieved so very much.
It had not been easy.
Al Zakāt Al Qāsim was a great help.
Prañav Yogéndr Divyānand also wanted to see her in charge of Al Qāsim Group of Companies.
He advised her to even to rape Durgesh, if the Hindu moralist didn’t buzz.
Only Durgesh could fulfil her dreams, Prañav Yogéndr Divyānand said.
Al Kubrah Al Qāsim frowned even more deeply.
He is now hers already.
He isn’t any problem.
He is obsessed to fuck Musalmān Beauties.
Any Musalmān Beauty can have Durgesh if she really surrendered to him.
Al Kubrah Al Qāsim was in control now.
Moreover, Al Kubrah Al Qāsim planned to stay in control.
Everyone in Al Qāsim family has to accept that fact.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm and Al Safiyah Al Ghaus watched Al Kubrah Al Qāsim profoundly.
Yet neither of them made any eye contact with her.
Eye contact was always a mistake.
It led to mundane conversations like ‘Isn’t it hot today’ or ‘Nice weather we are having’.
Elevator conversations were a total waste of time.
Al Kubrah Al Qāsim took no further notice of them either.
She was thinking of the problems that lay ahead.
Suddenly, the elevator ground to a stop mid-floors, and the lights went out, plunging all of us into inky blackness.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus exclaimed.
“Allah, what the hell happened?”
“Generator gone out, I think.”
“But the lights on again.”
“Emergency lights, stupid.”
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus laughed.
“I am not stupid, neither my niece Al Kubrah Al Qāsim is. We both are black belt karate champions. She deliberately brought you here. Now, decide yourself who is stupid.”
“Al Safiyah Al Ghaus,” Al Nadīm Al Quddūs admonished his wife, “are you crazy? If Durgesh has come here, it’s never because Al Kubrah Al Qāsim brought him here. He came here on his own volition.”*
Al Islam Al Wahāb looked at Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic.
She remembered her days when Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic wasn’t Al Qāsim Al Åbdullah.
Her Bahū Begum, Al Nāsirah Al Karīm, said Al Islam Al Wahāb had done a great wrong to them by insisting that Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic should be converted to Islam before Al Islam Al Wahāb and Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic marry.
“Al Nāsirah Al Karīm is right.” Al Islam Al Wahāb’s second Bahū Begum, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus also said, “India is Hindu dominant country.”
Al Islam Al Wahāb watched both of her Bahū Begums bitterly.
“Brahmdutt was already married to the Hollywood heroine Della Kennedy. He couldn’t divorce her. She was heroine in several movies produced and directed by him.”
“Al Nadīm Al Quddūs Bhāījān and Al Muħammad Al Qāsim both are from Brahmdutt Abbū?” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus asked her mother in law.
“Of course, any objection?” Al Islam Al Wahāb said curtly.
Al Safiyah Al Ghaus smiled at Al Nāsirah Al Karīm.
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm nodded.
“Ammī, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus thinks Al Nadīm Al Quddūs must return to his original religion.”
Al Islam Al Wahāb shouted.
“Brahmdév Sharmā uncle and Nāzimah Yåqūb auntie invited us yesterday in a party.” Al Safiyah Al Ghaus said in her sweetest manner.
Al Islam Al Wahāb was immediately all alert.
She never found her Bahū Begum, Al Safiyah Al Ghaus, using her sweetest manner until and unless the subject under discussion did not relate to exorbitant money.
Al Quddūs Al Åālam, her first husband, was a millionaire himself.
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was not Al Quddūs Al Åālam’s son exactly.
She was in his nikāħ, but Al Islam Al Wahāb had her extramarital affair with Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic even then.
Al Nadīm Al Quddūs was its natural result.
Al Quddūs Al Åālam knew it very well.
Even then, he acted immensely liberal to the entire situation.
“I know I’m dying, Al Islam Al Wahāb.” he said, “All my thirteen daughters from my previously divorced three wives, and the husbands of my daughters, have proved immensely incapable to run my business. I know, Al Nadīm Al Quddūs isn’t my son. Yet, he has given me more love, respect and loyalty than my own daughters gave me ever. You have been lenient enough till now not to tell Al Nadīm Al Quddūs he isn’t my son.”
“I’m sorry, Al Quddūs Al Åālam,” Al Islam Al Wahāb said patiently, “Brahmdutt couldn’t control himself and I couldn’t stop him. He just assaulted me, invaded me, in passion. Due to your long illness we hadn’t have sex for a long time. I surrendered to him in that wild animal moment.”
“It’s alright. It doesn’t make any difference now. I want to give my estate to Al Nadīm Al Quddūs. Would you and Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic be kind enough not to tell him he isn’t my son actually, till I die?”
Before Al Islam Al Wahāb could answer, Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic held Al Quddūs Al Åālam’s hand.
“Don’t worry. He was your son, and he’d remain so till you live.”
Al Islam Al Wahāb looked at Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic.
“It’s alright.” Pandit Brahmdutt Paurāñic circled her waist in his left arm, “He is dying. We can have more sons. He can’t.”
Al Quddūs Al Åālam suddenly found his eyes filled with tears of immense gratitude.
“Thank you very much, my friend. You’ve made my death easier now.”*
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan listened to Al Jamīlah Al Sultānova.
The Russian Musalmān Beauty had attracted her attention very much.
She looked at Kħadījah Muħammad.
“Well,” Kħadījah Muħammad said, “you understand ultramodern young Musalmān ladies more, Naåīmah. Durgesh, and I are somewhat older now in comparison to you. If not in our physical bodies, in our understanding of the ultramodern youth at least.”
“Nonsense, Bājī, I couldn’t have done anything at all if you and Saiyadah Fātimah PhD Bājī hadn’t supported me blindly and compelled Durgesh to do what I wanted him to do.”
Kħadījah Muħammad smiled.
“That’s all right. That’s all right. But you are forgetting you were doing what we ourselves wanted to, yet couldn’t.”
“Because we hadn’t any Saiyadah Fātimah PhD and Kħadījah Muħammad to support us. We hadn’t any Imām Muħammad Ħasan who had dreamed of to be Mustafā Kamāl Atāturk of entire Pseudo Islamic countries.”*
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm watched me, scrutinizing me thoughtfully.
She didn’t pay any attention to the fact that the elevator had stopped in the midway.
Her husband Al Muħammad Al Qāsim was planning something to get rid of his ever-greedy relatives, she knew.
He had consulted me in the matter.
I had already helped Al Muħammad Al Qāsim in the matters pertaining to his nudist feminist Musalmān Houseladies, successfully.
I had helped Al Nāsirah Al Karīm too in the matters pertaining to her problem child, Al Waħīdah Al Qāsim too.
She could never forget how I convinced Al Waħīdah Al Qāsim if she couldn’t live in relationship with me, she marry Prañav Yogéndr Divyānand.
“Fuck her yourself.” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm had said to me.’
“What?” I could not believe a mother could request me to fuck her daughter.
“If you don’t fuck Al Waħīdah Al Qāsim, she’d fuck Shankar Mahāpralayankar herself.”
“I don’t want her to have any relationship with Shankar Mahāpralayankar. Shankar Mahāpralayankar is an Underworld Don.”
“Well?” I smiled.
“Shankar Mahāpralayankar isn’t a problem to you because you can handle him successfully through several persons and means he cares for even more than his own life and the Organized Crime Empire he has established with the help of criminal politicians and industrialists all over the globe. I don’t want anything of him. Muħammad Ůsmān, my younger brother, and Muħammad bin Qāsim, my son, are already his patrons. That’s itself more than enough I can bear and handle.”
“Al Waħīdah Al Qāsim loves Shankar Mahāpralayankar?”
“Yes.” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm gritted her teeth, “I know Shankar Mahāpralayankar is the second choice of Musalmān Beauties nowadays, not the first one. You are the first choice they always dream of.”
“Tell me something more about your husband’s relatives,” I invited, “have you been fighting with them?”
“Not particularly. Pratāp Bachhalyā and Vikram Bachhalyā are not exactly my husband’s relatives only. They are my sons in law too. And actually I think they respect me more than they respect my husband even.”
“Because you are a trillionaire while your husband is only a billionaire?” I smiled.*
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm smiled.
“Well, money plays an important role in gaining respect too. I think you understand that far better than even I do.”
I smiled too.
“May I ask what did an extremely beautiful lady, as beautiful and as intelligent as you are, find in Al Muħammad Al Qāsim to marry him?”
Al Nāsirah Al Karīm smiled significantly.
“Well, he is too a billionaire at least.”
“But you are a trillionaire. You could have…”
“I couldn’t compromise with my freedom to take decisions, in any matter whatsoever. Al Muħammad Al Qāsim promised he would never interfere.”
“Means he wanted your trillions more than he wanted you?”
“Why should I worry the hell about it? I myself wanted only a nominal husband to show to my acquaintances. Didn’t I?” Al Nāsirah Al Karīm laughed, “In addition to that he was a billionaire himself too. It meant least demand of money from me than otherwise it would have been.”
I digested the information.
Now I understood why they both were not interested in each other mutually very much.
It wasn’t a marriage actually.
It was only a front they created to show their acquaintances.
Now I understood why Al Muħammad Al Qāsim didn’t object, even slightly, to my solution of his problems.*
I looked at Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd.
She was still looking at me every now and then somewhat stealthily.
“You have been away since, for several weeks?” I asked.
“Three months almost.” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd tried to control herself.
Even then, she couldn’t hide her impishness emerging every now and then.
The ultramodern young Panjvaqtah Namāzī ardent Musalmān Beauty was not as grave in her nature as she was trying frantically to display herself.
Yes, Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd was sophisticated, PhD, and she knew the world around her quite well.
Yet, she wasn’t a grave young Musalmān lady despite her desperate efforts to display herself so.
She was a naughty young Musalmān lady, by nature, bubbling with immense mischievous youth even at her twenty- ninth.
Every now and then, Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd was looking between my legs impishly.
It was more than obvious that Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd was very pleased to find that she was successful in causing me erection for her.
She was proud of herself that her immense Musalmān beauty was causing it.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd had deliberately gone to a beauty parlour before coming to me.
I was surprised that Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd wasn’t in panic at all.
Neither she was worried to the extent she might have been under the similar circumstances some other normal Musalmān Beauty would have been.
Instead, she seemed to be quite confident and surprisingly in possession of her faculties.
I extended my hand.
“There was a check in the letter?”
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd passed me a slip of paper.
“Here it is.” she said.
I looked at the check.
Suddenly I straightened.
Gravely I looked at the check again.
“Ten million dollars?” I inadvertently exclaimed.
Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd looked at me gravely.
“That’s what the check says.”
“I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t want you to have the money?”
“No, he wants you to take charge of the money for me.”
“You too want me to take charge of the money for you?”
“Why not? You claim to be sixty-three. I’m twenty-eight only. You have thirty five years more experiences of life and the world than I do.” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd said gravely, “They can snatch away the money from me in some way, either this or that, but not from you. My money is in safer hands for me.”
“Quite obviously, quite evidently, there’s something bothering Al Muħammad Al Qāsim.”
“Let’s find out.” I said.
“Am I accepted?”
“To be your one more new live in relationship partner?” Al Waħīdah Al Tawħīd asked gravely.
I watched her.
There wasn’t any faintest trace of impishness now in her any manner whatsoever.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam
Durgesh Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad
It was a blustery, a stormy night.
Kħadījah Muħammad was lying on her back.
Kħadījah Muħammad smiled.
“Stop it Naåīmah, it’s enough now.”
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan teased her.
The rain was pelting against the windows at intervals.
Wind howled around the cornices and fought its way through the narrow openings in the windows to billow, to swell, the lace curtains of our bedroom into weird shapes.
It alternately blossomed into white ghosts, collapsed, and dropped limply back against the casements.
My thrusts into Kħadījah Muħammad’s still amazingly ever tight Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saůūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān Cunt were as wild as there was some competition between the storm outside and my penetrations inside.
Kħadījah Muħammad groped for the ringing telephone.
The instrument momentarily eluded her passion intoxicated fingers.
Kħadījah Muħammad advanced the receiver to me as she was unable to attend the phone due to passion.
“Hello, Durgesh here.”
It was a man’s voice that answered me questioning,
“Yes, who is it?”
“It’s Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad.”
“Yes, Mr. Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad, what can I do for you?”
“It’s a matter of life and death. Can you see us immediately?”
“Yes, my wife is also with me.”
“You are sure it’s a matter of life and death?”
“Of course, man. Why have otherwise I called you in this rainy and stormy night?”*
They were also listening to the conversation.
The phone was on its loudspeaker now.
“Can you tell me something more, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad?”
“Sorry, I’d prefer to give you any information about it when we are face to face, not on phone.”
“Well, you know there are so many communal Musalmīn who can do anything to kill me. I fuck their Musalmān houseladies under my Durgesh Åāýéshah Siddīqah Social Service, DurgeshFarīdah Jalāl SheikħSex Therapy , or Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan’s five movements: Cuckold Your Musalmān husband Hindu Lund Muslim Choot International Club Ashvinātam Gangbang Club Al Jihād fil Durgesh fī sabīlillāh JetMusalmān BeautiesSquad. How can I differentiate my enemies from you?”
“Propose any method that we can follow.”
“Come to Dārussalām itself.”
“No problem, Sir. We need you. You don’t need us.”
“How many adult women you have, sacrificing their sanctity for you, genetically related to you?”
“Enough to cure me, Doctor Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ has advised me.”
“Your real sisters?”
“Yes, and Chachāzād cousins too. They also have the same genes as I do.”
“Well, does it make any difference?”
“Yes, most of them are married, but not all of them.”
“You are ready to lick our juices after I fuck them?”
“I haven’t another option.”
“Okay. You understand that everyone of your real sisters and Chachāzād cousins would be thoroughly checked by none other than Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ herself to verify she doesn’t have any sexual disease whatsoever?”
“Sure. Dr. Farīdah Jalāl Sheikħ has told me so.”
It was not so always, however, for Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
She was born in Makkah Mukarramah but she was taken to Palestine not even so many days after it.
In the life of Årabs, whether males or females, the repetition of stories was a way of life.
It was unusual in an Årab Society for a female child to be entitled to her Ammī’s breasts as long as she wanted to.
It was only a privilege reserved mostly for male children.
It seems very unjust, but how could a backward society that still refused to understand that the world had gone too far ahead from the circumstances that occurred 1400 years ago, could understand the children of both the sex have equal needs for their growth?
Not everyone could be Ħuzūrs.
Hes fought for the fundamental rights of women too.
The equal rights to suck her mother’s breasts was too farfetched, the female children were denied even their fundamental right of survival when Ħuzūrs came as Muħsin-e-Insāniyat.
Hes stopped the burial of female children of Årabs alive.
Yes, hes was Muħsin-e-Insāniyats, but hes was Muħsin-e-Niswān more.
The present day Musalmīn had absolutely forgotten now this revolutionary work of their Nabī Ākħiruzzamāns.
They remembered only the aħādīs-e-Muqaddasāt of their own relevance.
Wasn’t it a dominant human nature whether male or female?
Yet, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was the extraordinary lucky girl.
She was not weaned until her fifth birthday.
Usually it signalled, even for a boy, that he was coming out of the kitchen.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan behaved as if she was a boy.
Instead being angry her Abbū Imām Muħammad Ħasan laughed at her boyish activities.
He enjoyed them very much.
Even Nafīsah Salmān was surprised.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan never allowed others to break any custom of the clan.
Yet, the little she devil, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan, was an exception.
Wasn’t it surprising?*
Yes, he was Mukħtār of Tabah, Palestine.
But he was already defeating the other Mukħtārs in Palestine, in popularity and knowledge both.
He was the highest educated man among all the Mukħtārs.
Nafīsah Salmān had great breasts.
Not only were they filled with milk, but they gave Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan a place too where she could nestle and feel an enormous comfort.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan managed to learn many things even in that age about the world of men.
She was eight years old only.
One day, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan could not find her Ammī.
Being a girl of only eight years, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan‘s only chore was fetching water.
She used to fetch water with her Ammī every day.
Now, her Ammī had gone, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan was greeted with taunts.
The women all cackled and laughed at Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
The women told her that her father was going to take a second wife.
“Nonsense,” Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had protested, “Abbū will never do such a thing.”
“The foolish child thinks Imām Muħammad Ħasan can be something else than a typical Årab Palestinian Mukhtar.” One of the women smiled at the rest of the women, “No education can change the bloody Årabs. They are stubbornly backward and they want to remain so.”
“Why education only?” Sāliħah Ħanīf said tartly, “even Allah Subħān Wa tålā has ordered:
‘‘Wa in kħiftum allā tuqsitū filyatāmā fa inkiħū mā tāb lakumminannisāi masnā wa sulās wa rubāå.
Aw mā malkat aymānukum
Zālik adnā allā tåūlū.’
‘And if you fear that you cannot act equitably towards orphans, then marry such women as seem good to you, two and three and four;
But if you fear that you will not do justice then (marry) only one or what your right hands possess.
This is more proper, that you may not deviate from the right course.’
-̶ Al Qur’ān Al Karīm: 4 An Nisā: 3”
Raziyah Waħīd smiled skeptically.
“The Årab bastards don’t see other words in this Āyat-e-Karīmah except ‘fa inkiħū…rubāå’ ‘then marry four’.”
All of them laughed.
Some of them even threw stones at Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan.
They were jealous of her.
However, most of them enjoyed a Hindu lover, either clandestinely or else.
It was owned by him and his younger brother, Muħammad Åbbās Yåqūb.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan spent most of his day there.
He brushed Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan aside, walking on.
He used to hide his love for Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan so that the other Årabs don’t ridicule him.
Now, Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan wondered how she thought it was normal.
What a rotten society actually it was where even a loving father couldn’t express his love for his daughter.
Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan had marched to his Abbū, even then, and tugged at his coat.
It was a tug barely strong enough to demand his attention.
Imām Muħammad Ħasan turned to her quite surprised.
“You? Naåīmah ? What are you doing here? Go to the home.”
“I want to see you at work. Ammī says you are the most important man here.”
Imām Muħammad Ħasan was suddenly proud of himself.
He had also thought of the opposition of the local illiterate, or at least, almost illiterate Årabs.
He had anticipated their opposition.
Yet, he had vowed to go on despite it.
Why not Imām Muħammad Ħasan too?
He smiled at his daughter.
“Okay. Come with your Abbū.”
Originally, he had decided to grab Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan by her arm and shake her so violently that she would even think she might faint.
Then he would toss Naåīmah Muħammad Ħasan like garbage so that she would land in the open sewer that ran down from the top of the town.
It was a half block’s walk from the parking lot.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā’s twenty fifth-floor suite of offices was now not far away.
It was just across the elevated railway.
The drizzle was light this morning.
Even then, it was enough to saturate Nūrjahān Gayās Beg’s jaunty green rain hat and similarly green raincoat.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg removed her soggy rain gear in the hall, going toward Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā’s suite.
She paused briefly at the ladies room to see if the hat had messed her neat bobbed brown hair.
It had, indeed.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg patted her hair into place.
She took off her tinted green-rimmed prescription glasses she used for driving.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg wiped them dry.
She tucked them into her bag and headed for her appointment with Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad’s absolutely competent physician.
The reception room was tastefull.
The fabrics on the furniture were all a restful pale green.
Once inside, Nūrjahān Gayās Beg hung her hat and coat on the wooden coatrack.
She went directly to the red haired receptionist behind the counter.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg smiled.
She knew once a Tanzānian girl was appointed in her staff.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā almost immediately transferred her to her Tanzanian Branch office.
“Right on time, I hope.”
“Oh, yes. But I’m afraid the doctor is running a few minutes behind. She’ll be with you shortly. I know she is eager to see you. If you don’t mind taking a seat―”
“Not at all.”
“By the way, how is Mr. Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad?”
“Still somewhat weak, but well enough to go to the office every morning and work a half day.”
“I’m glad to hear that. He is such a wonderful young man. One of the most charming perhaps I’ve ever met. We wish Mr. Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad the best, Miss Beg.”
Receptionist Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha smiled.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg was really majestic.
Receptionist Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha had flattered about Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad.
Her own sincere observation of Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad was that he was a damnfool.
He didn’t deserve Nūrjahān Gayās Beg’s so much attention as he was luckily getting.
Being a receptionist it was her duty to please everyone who came here whether Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha really liked him or her or not.
It was an honor for Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha to work for the world- prominent legendary Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā.
“Thank you.” Nūrjahān Gayās Beg said, taking a magazine from the wall rack, any magazine, in this case a medical magazine.
Sitting, settling back, Nūrjahān Gayās Beg thumbed through it.
Pharmaceutical ads were on every page.
Most of the Musalmīn don’t know why the impotence comes to a man and how it can be defeated.
Consequently, they aren’t aware of it when its symptoms appear.
Neither they are careful to cure it immediately.
Instead, being immensely ashamed of themselves they almost always try to hide it.
It results ultimately in their absolute incurability.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg had no patience for it.
She kept the periodical open on her lap, but blankly stared through it.
Zohrah Maħmūd Pasha was extremely charming in doing so.
She felt herself cheated.
Sex, sex and sex.
Her lover was crazy to have sex with her.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg felt very happy first.
But how much she could have after all?
Suddenly Nūrjahān Gayās Beg found she was pregnant.
Her lover proposed a permanent Live in Relationship.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg was indignant.
She wanted nikāħ.
Her lover didn’t agree.
She ended her affair with her lover permanently.
Yet, she gave birth to a very handsome male child.
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad knew all of it.
Yet he was ready to marry Nūrjahān Gayās Beg even keeping her son with them.
Nūrjahān Gayās Beg at thirty was trim, thanks to her tennis game.
She was comely and fair, brown eyes wide set, a broad tip-tilted nose, a generous rosy mouth, a svelte figure, abundant bosom, shapely legs.
And a brain as fine as it was competent.
Strangers were always surprised to learn that Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was a well-paid, full time clinical psychologist, dividing her crowded days between carefully limited private practice and an associate professor’s post.
Her interest in psychology had been inspired by reading Alfred Adler at an early age.
Her role model had been the psychoanalyst, Karen Horney.
Psychoanalyst Karen Horney was the greatest woman in the field.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg wanted to serve at University of Chicago originally.
The famed John B. Watson had got his PhD at the University of Chicago.
Moreover, Carl Rogers had once been director of the University of Chicago Counseling Centre.
Why shouldn’t she have?
She always remembered her lover.
But her ego had hurt and she always decided not to return to her lover ever.
Yes, he was the father of her son.
But Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad had promised to fill his place as efficiently as he could.
She had sex with her lover daily without any exception.
Sometimes even thrice a day.
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad was normal in sex.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was very disappointed but still she was adamant not to return to her lover.
Even if not experienced, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad loved her more considerately than her lover did.
Suddenly, one early evening, in the midst of a handball game, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad collapsed.
His one leg had given way, and he had folded up.
His thigh was causing him unremitting pain.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was furious at her best friend, Sājidah Suhayl Kāzmī when she expressed her doubt,
“Stop it. You idiot, he isn’t even a Muslim.”
“All of them are after his money.” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg charged every one of them, “Durgesh has money. He has multi zillions. Even his Live in Relationship Partners are millionaires at least. They are purchasing everyone.”
Sājidah Suhayl Kāzmī smiled ironically.
This had been less than six weeks ago.
Finally, the verdict was in.
A sarcoma, a bone cancer.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was startled.
Deterioration of the bone tissue involving the head of the femur, or thigh.
They said gradually the disease would worsen.
Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad would lose mobility; require crutches, eventually a wheelchair.
Most likely, the cancer would be fatal.
She was holding the hall door open.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg clutched her beg.
She was on her feet and through the door.
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg went down the short corridor.
She turned into the doctor’s private office.
It seemed a portent of some unhappiness.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā half rose from her chair.
“Miss Beg,” she said, and gestured her to a chair across from her desk.
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā was one of those physicians whose very aspect inspired confidence.
“Miss Beg, I thought it best if we could talk face to face. I want to discuss Salīm’s surgery. I hope this sudden call didn’t inconvenience you.”
“Nothing is more important than Salīm’s surgery.”
“I know he told you about it, that it is the primary option we have.”
“Salīm told me a little. Just that there were no guarantees, but there was a fair chance, and that he was going to go through with it. I was glad he was going ahead. I encouraged it.”
She hesitated somewhat, then asked.
“What are his chances?”
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā measured her words.
“With surgery, some. Without surgery, none. There is some advance work being done in this field, but I’m afraid it hasn’t come to fruition yet. Some years ago, I read a paper by a Dr. Ānand Siddhārth Mr’tyunjaý in Mumbai. He had evolved a new technique, surgery and implants coupled with genetic engineering. His experiments at that point were fully successful. But they had involved mammals other than human beings. I discussed this with several highly accredited local surgeons. They had also heard of Dr. Ānand Siddhārth Mr’tyunjaý’s progress. But they felt that it was not ready to be applied to human beings as yet. So, since time is of essence, we are left with the only surgery we know and can depend upon, standard bone surgery with replacement of the malignant portion of the femur. Sometimes it works successfully.”
“Sometimes.” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg echoed dully.
“Let me be more precise.” Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā tried to smile, “, based on case histories of these surgeries. If undertaken right away, before there is more deterioration, Salīm Jalāluddīn Muħammad may have a thirty percent chance of getting rid of his cancer and being restored to normal life. But the fact remains, statistically, that there would also be a seventy percent chance of failure. Nevertheless, I repeat, there is no other choice but to go right ahead.”
“Well, when do we go ahead?”
Dr. Āsiyah Mustafā frowned.
“We don’t.” she said simply, “I had the surgery scheduled for this week, but now the operation has been cancelled.”
Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg was on the edge of her chair.
“For Allah’s sake, whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?”*
Mirzā Ghayās Beg looked at his daughter in perplexity.
“What do you mean?”
“They have ordered to take two American passports from our files without telling anyone.” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg informed her Abbū tartly.
It was December 1978.
Thirty-three years had passed since, but Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg felt it happened as if yesterday.
She was fifty-two years old now.
Present government of Iran was not then in power.
Mirzā Ghayās Beg sighed.
“So Durgesh has once more anticipated correctly?”
“Abbū,” Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg looked at her Abbū sharply, “He always manages to have inside informations.”
“Yes,” Mirzā Ghayās Beg looked at her just eighteen, extremely beautiful daughter, Nūrjahān Ghayās Beg, “Durgesh always manages to have inside informations. But it’s never detrimental to our Ummat-e-Muslimah.”
“You just eighteen, kamsin kid, Durgesh is completely ten years older than you.”
Mirzā Ghayās Beg wasn’t surprised.
He knew his youngest daughter was not as westernized as her elder sisters were.
He couldn’t understand where he had failed.
All his four wives were highly westernized.
He himself believed in Western education.
He changed the subject.
“Two American passports? Any passports in particular?”
“Paul Chiapparone’s and Bill Gaylord’s.”
Bill was second in command and manager of their biggest project, the contract with the Ministry of Health, Iran.
He couldn’t believe when the exile of Ayatullah Rūħullah Mustafvī Kħomeinī had already turned the foolish uneducated/under educated Iranians against him, Shah Muħammad Rezā Pahalvī could take such a wrong step as to annoy his greatest protector, the President of USA, Jimmy Carter.
He had succeeded in fooling them cunningly.
His adviser, James Bill, believed that Ayatullah Rūħullah Mustafvī Kħomeinī was not a mad Mujāhid. Instead, he was a man of impeccable integrity and honesty.
How wrong James Bill was too.*